Cobert Week 2017: True love in any verse
by moonlessmondays
Summary: My contributions for Cobert Week 2017. Cross posted from tumblr.


So, this is my contribution for Day 1: Magic of Cobert week 2017! There will be two other oneshots for Cobert Week that I will post later today but here have this.

Also I know we said no drabbles, but if it's Any consolation, I am writing for I think every day of the week!

Enjoy and keep supporting the Cobert Week 2017 ❤

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There is a hill nearby the Downton Abbey in Grantham City which is believed to not only the best spot to overlook the city, but also the most romantic place in the whole of Grantham.

Cora Levinson is not only an art history major working in the Metropolitan Museum in New York, but also is a traveller herself and the idea of visiting a place with so much history made her giddy as a schoolgirl. Of course, she'd done her job first, did the research she'd been asked to do and get the paintings they had won, which had been something she's done earlier in the day. She'd continued her exploration of the city in the afternoon then, after all her appointments, because, well, she isn't going to visit one of the most beautiful cities in England and not visit the historical sites and be stuck at work.

It is a bit of a trek, the hill—which had been call the Isis hill, named after the Earl's dog back when he'd been living—for the dog's remains are buried at the foot of the hill (which makes her wonder how romantic such a place could be). The view above is wonderful, however, and no matter how exhausting the hike had been, it's all very much worth it as she reaches the top and sees the whole of Grantham. She feels free there, feels the wind against her hair and cheeks, breathes in the fresh air and lets the stress roll off her back.

2017 has been such a bitch to her that this kind of calm and peace is such a gift. She is grateful for the quiet and feels as though she might want to stay here forever.

It's wonderful, all so very wonderful.

She smiles as she sits on the grass at the very top and just looks down at the world below. It seems like it's so far away, and not but a hill separates her from what is now and what is down below, and for now she basks on that, basks on the beauty of nature and what god has given. She basks in the sunrays as they hit her skin and the feeling of the grass blades underneath her fingertips.

For a while, she forgets that the world below exists.

And it takes her a long while before she decides that it's time to go, time to go back to that world below, back to the life of hectic schedules and meetings and endless demands, maybe even back to America, for as much as she wants to stay right here forever, it isn't to be so. She has a life to get back to, a family waiting for her and a job she needs to do.

Sighing, she gets up from her perch and breathes in the fresh air one last time, before she makes the trek once more. Though she knows that she should get back, the rock formation she'd passed by and ignored on her way up, standing tall and proud, in a odd sort of circular form intrigued her. This is what is supposed to be the romantic part of this hill, though for the life of her she cannot figure out why. She had been told earlier that this is where the Earl and Countess of Grantham had first met, and though that is rather romantic for them, it doesn't necessarily apply for everyone else, does it?

(Despite, of course, the other circumstances that are odd and that are also aligning and involving her to this narrative, though she doesn't know how or why).

She bites down on her lip as her fingers touch the first large stone. The sun is just about to set, and she knows she'll have to go back. She really doesn't fancy a hike down when it's too dark, but the stones seem to whisper her name, and one by one she touches each one of them, until she comes into full circle.

It's an odd thing, some sort of a warping feeling, and she feels confusion creeping up to her as she feels as though she is falling, and falling, and falling, and falling but the pit is endless and there is nothing there at the bottom for her to fall to.

It's an odd sensation to open her eyes, having not known she'd closed them in the first place. It's an even odder circumstance to open her eyes and find another pair of the bluest ones she's ever seen staring back at her, looking at her oddly and with a hint of suspicion in them.

If anything, she should be the one who's suspicious.

"Who are you?" she asks him in a soft voice, sounding suspicious and confused. She looks at him and keeps her stare, and she watches as his face contorts into some sort of confusion himself.

He clears his thought, "My name is Robert Crawley," he says with an air of elegance and regency that Cora cannot quite understand but definitely appreciates. "Who are you?"

"Er," she stutters, breathing deeply, "I'm Cora Levinson."

He nods, "What are you doing here, then? This is a private property," he asks and then raises an eyebrow. "Better yet, how did you just suddenly appear there without having trekked?"

Cora is now absolutely confused. What the hell is he talking about? She did hike up here, her sore legs come tomorrow morning are a definite proof.

"What do you mean?" she asks, looking at this Robert guy as though he's grown another head—it absolutely feels like it. "I trekked my way up here!"

But this man shakes his head (and isn't it weird, that if it's true that she'd just appeared here without having hiked, that this man hadn't even flinched or looked at her in any other way but confused?), and points to where she's standing. "You appeared right there, in front of my very eyes, like magic," he says a matter of factly.

" _Magic_?" Cora asks as she feels laughter bubble up her throat. "There is no such thing. And besides, if I appeared out of thin air, why are you not surprised?" She folds her arms across her chest. "Besides this is not a private property. The owners of this land are deceased and it's now part of the local government which they use as a tourist spot."

The man, Robert, looks affronted. "Pardon my language, Lady Cora, but over my dead body!" he exclaims. Forgotten are his claims of magic, as he rants that he's not to give up the land, not on his life, but they all sound like a jumbled mix of words as everything catches up to Cora.

It cannot be, though.

It absolutely cannot be.

It's just not possible.

It defies all logic and rational things.

How the fuck can it be?

"Holy fuck," Cora exclaims in surprise. "What year is this?" It is the question she has never thought to ask, because it's not occurred to her…

It is totally untrue and totally not possible, but what if? After all, the things she'd found out at the museum…it all makes sense now….

"1890," Robert answers as though he isn't doling out information that is about to change her life forever. She looks at him in shock, and god, if this is what a heart attack feels like, it's so unpleasant. "Lady Cora? Are you alright, you look rather pale?"

She doesn't have the time to answer as blackness overtakes her vision and realization floods her. She had just travelled back in time. Some kind of magic it is, indeed.

 **Fin**


End file.
